


by halves

by drashian



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Gender Dysphoria, M/M, Period-Typical Surgery, Trans Character, Transgender
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 12:12:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4478804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drashian/pseuds/drashian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris closed his eyes, said softly, “It is perhaps more unbearable to be half one kind of freak and half another.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY FENDERS APPRECIATION WEEK! hopefully i'll have at least a good chunk of this posted during the upcoming week.
> 
> warning for nasty infected botched surgery stuff.

A healer’s true job, Anders figured, was to find out all their patients’ most embarrassing secrets. The strange group of companions he ran around with was no exception; he healed private itches, brewed esoteric potions, inspected shameful wounds. He was a giver at heart. The place where everyone eventually revealed their sorrows, internal and external.

But Fenris remained a mystery.

No surprises there, of course! Anders wasn’t exactly disappointed; every time they saw each other things ended in an argument. He was lucky to have all his organs in the right spots. Still, it itched at the back of his mind, nagging that of course Fenris was the one with the biggest secrets of them all.

As the last patient left his clinic on a particularly hot day, Fenris slipped in the door—Anders knew sometimes he stood guard outside for some incomprehensible reason—and sat on a cot. Anders raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“If you have a moment to spare, I require a healer to examine a wound.”

Anders rolled his eyes. The elf had been insisting on bandaging himself lately, and of course there was something festering. “Have at it, then.”

Fenris lifted his jaw proudly as he unbuckled his breastplate, laying it beside him with ever-careful fingers. He delicately removed the rest of his armor from the waist up, then his leathers, leaving him in a thin undertunic. The right side of it was discolored, damp. Lifting up the hem revealed a bandage around his ribs soaked through with pus and blood. It was suddenly obvious that the flush on Fenris’ cheeks was not purely of shame, but also of fever and pain. Anders hissed and immediately knelt beside Fenris to quickly unwrap the wound.

“Anders, I hope you know discretion because this—“ Fenris began, but cut himself off with a pained expression as Anders peeled off the bottommost layer of bandaging. One side of his chest was mangled, the skin sewn together in a broad scar but weeping and mottled with infection. The left side was blessedly untouched, but very clearly completed the picture of what had happened to Fenris.

“You need to let me use magic on this,” Anders said, holding back his scolding for a later moment. The elf nodded once. Retrieving a lyrium vial from his desk and downing it quickly, Anders laid hands upon Fenris’ chest, magic chasing the infection to everywhere it had spread, burning it out of his veins, his skin, his muscles. He picked up the sheet off the cot and used the corner to wipe the wound clean. Fenris’ knuckles clenched white but he made no sound.

The infection was deep in Fenris’ chest, and had begun to spread to his entire body. Every time Anders had seared it from one spot, it had already advanced in another. Another couple days and it would have claimed the elf’s life.

Once the infection had been chased from every corner of his body, Anders inspected the scar. The inflammation was already going away, revealing the ragged edges of the incision and the unsteady stitching. Anders coaxed the flesh together gently. His bruised knees told him it had been over an hour of healing. The scarring had already begun before Anders had touched it; the skin was still uneven, discolored, ugly. But it was no longer a threat on his life.

“Fenris…” he began, his voice rough.

“Do not lecture me on matters you know nothing of, mage.” Fenris’ jaw hardened but he did not stand, only prodded and inspected the one side of his chest.

Anders scowled but didn’t bother to correct the idiot, only stood on trembling legs and collapsed onto the next cot over. “I don’t know if you did this to yourself or if you paid some hack to do surgery on you, but don’t do it again. There are better ways.”

“Like blood magic? I have done research. There is no help for me in the world of magic, even if I had any desire to ask.”

“Oh, you think I’m a blood mage now? I have _never_ …!” Anders shut himself up. He was a vessel, a safe place for his companions to vent their sorrows and lick their wounds. He did not tell them about his own.

Fenris cocked his head at him. His shirt was still lifted to his chin, shame forgotten, one side permanently mangled and the other, unmarred breast like an accusation.

Anders shrugged, a poor imitation of nonchalance. “I’m, you know, like you. Born different.”

Green eyes inspected him, piercing, burning over every inch of exposed skin.

“I know there’s not a lot out there for you—for us—but there are options. Potions, spells—not blood magic. Things to ease your pain, at least, even if it doesn’t eliminate it. A-and even if you are going to try to do surgery, it doesn’t have to be so… so crude.” The more Anders spoke, the more flushed he felt, until he could barely manage words under Fenris’ gaze. Did elves not blink? He couldn’t remember any more.

Fenris pulled down his shirt, like he had only just remembered that it was there. It lay against him unevenly, and the sight made Anders’ throat swell.

“I know it’s not easy, and sometimes it’s the worst thing in the world, but…” Anders trailed off, his voice wavering.

“I have never…” Fenris began, and his voice almost seemed to catch for a moment. He cleared his throat. “I have never known another who was like me. Like us. I have read books, and heard rumors, and witnessed from afar, but never someone who was…” He considered for a moment, his head tilting curiously again. “A companion.”

“A friend,” Anders said before he could stop himself, and Maker preserve him from disembowelment when he had already done so much for Fenris. “If you would allow it.”

Fenris hummed, and suddenly Anders realized that what he had thought for so long was simply another annoyed grunt was really the elf’s laugh, permanently bashful, caught in his throat.

“You should rest.” Anders plowed awkwardly ahead. “You are welcome to a cot, though I suspect your bed is much more comfortable. I will heal the rest and remove the stitches tomorrow, and we will… discuss your options.”

Fenris rose, testing his knees, and finding them steady enough he began to rearmor himself. “I am indebted to you for your assistance. If there is an appropriate way to repay you…”

Anders shrugged and began to strip the cot, throwing the stained sheets and bandages into a pile to be washed. “We will think of something. Don’t worry yourself over it; it is my job, after all.”

“So it is,” Fenris said strangely, and buckling his breastplate over himself once again, took his leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear to god i opened word to write a cute tropey trans fic and i was gonna do the "haha a trans guy is hurt on his chest and he has to ~reveal~ his binding to another person" thing but fenris lifted his shirt and suddenly this was happening.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the prompt for day 2 of fenders appreciation week is "healing scars", which is hilariously appropriate for this fic.

“They’re going to suspect something very strange,” Anders said as Fenris fell into step beside him. The den of slavers wiped out, both of them had quite obviously left in the same direction, and Anders didn’t doubt their friends would notice.

“Then let them suspect. If they truly believe something untoward is happening, that is a product of their own weak imaginations.”

“And if they knew the whole truth?”

Fenris’ eyes flickered to his feet.

They arrived at the clinic in silence. Anders unlocked the door and they both slipped inside. With a gesture, he lit the lamps while locking the door behind him. By the time he turned around, Fenris had already began to shed his armor.

It had been several weeks, and the healing had helped the scarring fade, but Anders did not have high hopes. There were some things magic could not fix. As he lifted Fenris’ shirt and swept his fingers over it, he sighed. The lyrium lines around the scar puckered and twisted, but did not break. Anders was not sure what would happen if they did—no wound Fenris had gotten had gone deep enough to fully sever them, and clearly this surgeon had the presence of mind to incise strategically.

“There is little I can do at this point. Your scar will grow paler, but I cannot make it disappear. You will always look like this.” Anders sat down next to Fenris on an unmade cot.

“Then you do not think the other side…”

Anders sighed. “I do not recommend it. I suppose if… I could attempt the surgery myself, or ask the assistance of someone I know, but it would be just as dangerous as the first time.” Fenris still refused to disclose who had attempted the first surgery, only providing that he had not done it to himself and that the surgeon had planned on continuing to the other side once the first had healed.

Fenris pulled on the hem of his shirt. “I understand that what I did was risky, but now…” He closed his eyes, said softly, “It is perhaps more unbearable to be half one kind of freak and half another.”

Anders nodded, his hand hovering over Fenris, wanting to touch him comfortingly but frozen in place. “I want you to build your strength for a few weeks more, then we can decide.”

Fenris nodded once, satisfied.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a few beats more before Anders rose and retrieved a small box from one of his rotting shelves. “These are for you,” he said, sliding the cover back. Inside were several small vials of greenish potion. “It is the same formula I have been using for some time, adjusted to your smaller size. You take it every week.”

Fenris took the box into his hands and ran a finger over the glass vial. “I will not grow stubble,” he said, his mouth twisting into something like a smile.

“No, you won’t, though you would if you could. In fact, I’m unsure exactly the extent it will affect an elf. Your voice will likely deepen, not that you need much help with that anyway. It won’t transform you or anything—it’s not even magic, just herbs. But your body will change.”

Fenris closed the box and held it close. “Thank you,” he said, dipping his head ever so slightly.

“It’s no problem. I’ve done this… well. It’s not my secret to tell, but I have done this more often than you might expect.” Fenris narrowed his eyes at Anders, who mimed sewing his lips shut. “I can teach you how to make it yourself, if you’d like.”

Fenris nodded. “When I have used these up, we will make the next batch together.”

“Perfect.” Anders smiled.

Their silence was more companionable then. After an age, Fenris rose, buckling his armor back to his body. “I should return to Hightown,” he said, not meeting Anders’ eyes.

“Sure. I should open the clinic for a few hours; see what I can do before passing out tonight.”

Fenris made a displeased noise, but few of his noises were ever approving anyway, so Anders wasn’t surprised. 

Outside of these private hours in the clinic, Fenris and Anders were still Fenris and Anders. The mages still deserved their freedom and the elf still spat in his face at the suggestion. Under the spikes of his armor and personality, though, Fenris was…

Anders shook his head. Not good to dwell. Perhaps in another life they could have been friends, but in this one, prospects seemed hopeless. But the more he saw that gentler side of Fenris, the more he wished he lived that other life. A life where he coaxed laughter out of Fenris’ mouth.

He lit the clinic’s lantern and caught the last glimpse of Fenris as he disappeared towards Hightown.

As it turned out, they would make good on their promise to brew potions together sooner than expected. Only a few days had passed in his normal routine (wake, heal, write, sleep, repeat) when Hawke sent word that the Deep Roads expedition was ready and would Anders pretty please come with them?

_No, no, no, absolutely not, never again,_ he thought, but what came out of his mouth was, “Of course.” Damn that rogue.

“Thank you, my fearless healer. You’re saving lives!” Hawke said with a wink as they scurried away to convince their other companions. 

“I’m saving lives on the surface just fine, thanks,” Anders muttered and returned to rolling bandages.

The next day, Anders sucked on his teeth and knocked on the dark, seemingly abandoned door of Danarius’ mansion. The door cracked open after a moment, white hair and narrowed green eyes peeking out.

“I take it you’re coming with us to the Deep Roads,” Anders said without preamble. Fenris always grunted his way through niceties so he skipped them entirely now.

“Hawke indicated that a warrior would be greatly needed.” The door creaked open another half inch.

“Come on, then. We’ll both have to stock up on that potion; no telling how long we will be down there.”

The door closed, then opened again a moment later, Fenris slinging his sheathed sword around his shoulders. He nodded at Anders and locked the door behind him.

“I have everything at my clinic that we need,” Anders said, lamely trying to fill the silence as they walked side-by-side to Darktown.

“Smart,” Fenris said. Apparently he didn’t feel awkward at all. Lovely for him.

“I don’t have a good name for the potion itself… The book I got it out of called it some horrible insulting thing; I don’t even remember what it was any more. But it’s kind of ominous to call it just ‘The Potion’, right?”

Fenris didn’t even grunt a reply, just kept walking, his eyes bright and alert.

“Well, I’m not clever enough to call it anything. Not that I really have to, I guess. If I’m making it for myself, I obviously know what I’m making, and anyone else who needs it just gives me a whole speech about their life story and I help them out. No one’s ever come into the clinic and said, ‘Oh Anders, I just have to have a sip of your Incredible Sex Characteristic Changing Potion! I hear it’s the tastiest thing in Darktown!’”

Maybe the corners of Fenris’ lips quirked upwards. _Maybe._

Anders let them both in the clinic, then quickly started to assemble supplies. A familiar ritual, he danced around his shelves without thinking. Fenris simply stood in front of the door, watching him.

“Well, come on then, let me show you how it’s done!” Anders beckoned Fenris over and narrated every ingredient, every action, the precise temperatures and times and colors. Fenris watched, spoke not a word, but he was clearly committing everything to memory. As he leaned over the steaming pot to observe the slow deepening of the color, Anders noted with a smile that the ends of his white hair curled upwards in the heat. Something so ordinary felt out of place on the often ethereal warrior.

“At this point, you have to just remove it from the heat and allow it to cool and settle for at least a couple hours, but you can leave it overnight and no harm will come to it. Then bottle it up and enjoy.” Anders leaned back against the legs of his desk. Seeing Fenris sit against a cot, firmly planted on his own dirt floor, should have been stranger than it was. Despite being fully armored, Fenris looked perfectly comfortable.

He picked at his gauntlets for a while before lifting his head to look at Anders. “You said that this was from a book. Where?”

Anders shrugged. “We sneaked it out of a book in the Circle. Cutting my own hair off and stealing some bandages from the infirmary was easy enough, but Templars don’t take kindly to things like that. They probably thought it was yet another way for me to act out. So I hid myself, let them put me in the dormitories with girls and all. But I wasn’t the only one, so we kind of had our secret meetings and figured things out between us. I perfected it with some help from Dalish healers over the years; they’ve got it all pretty well figured out in the clans. Better than humans, at least.”

“I didn’t know it was so common. For years I believed myself singular.”

Anders laughed. “It’s not, really! But we have a way of flocking towards each other, I think. And since everyone gets all tied up in knots about it, we learn to hide it, even from each other.”

Fenris nodded slowly. “Some of Hawke’s other companions are like us, too, aren’t they? You’ve hinted at it enough times.”

“As I said. We flock together. Hawke, particularly, attracts misfits of all orders.”

Fenris snorted, but he was smiling and soft-eyed. For a breathless moment, Anders imagined that other life, the one where they were truly friends, where these moments happened every day, and his chest ached.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, find me on tumblr as [vulcanders](http://vulcanders.tumblr.com).


End file.
